The Cop, The Prof and The Prex

I’ve been on vacation for two weeks, but one thing happened during that time that is worth commenting on. An unseemly example of black rage/white guilt took place in Boston—and the President of the United States mixed himself up in it.
My problem is that I understand all sides.
I understand the cop. He got a call two men were breaking into a house in a upscale neighborhood. When you’re a cop and you have to go check out two men breaking into a house, black or white, your adrenalin starts to flow. There is always the outside chance you’re not going to go home alive. No matter how many times you’ve done it, you go in tense, even scared.
The gentlemen trying to get in the door without working keys also seem not to have had much in the way of identification. Then one of them starts to berate the officer. The still tense cop decides to put himself out of harm’s way by handcuffing the offensive door breaker. That non-vicious or racist act has saved many a cop’s life.
I understand the prof. He’s a long time activist; his stock and trade has been to point out police brutality and to bring public attention to it. He may actually have believed the officer checking on his house was acting in a racially motivated way. (If he’d thought for a moment, he might have been grateful that the police were so quick to protect his life and property.) All he saw was white cop, black man.
(He might also reflect on what will happen the next time there is a report on a break-in at his home. “Sorry, all the officers were out on other calls.”)
But black Americans do have a point, no doubt. My wife will never forget the night she was in a hurry to get home from the mall. She’s tall and she walks swiftly with apparent purpose. That night there was a black family—grandma, mom, two small kids—ahead of her.
She moved to pass them, without thinking. As she came abreast, all of them turned toward her, fear written on their faces. They put their shopping bags down. Grandma spoke for all, “You can look through our packages. See? Here’s our receipts.”
She tried to apologize, to explain that she wasn’t any form of store security—but the fear never really left their faces. Yes, I’ve known black men who couldn’t get cabs, black families who lived in middle class apartments—their carpets cut so they could move quickly and run to another neighborhood when the need arose. Black kids who sat up all night, shotgun in hand, as the KKK drove by, honking and threatening.
I’ve been picked up a cop in a pricy Connecticut suburb at 4:00am—and released in five minutes. Black friends have assured me that, in the same town, they would have been held for three days or more. Even if all any of us were doing was walking back to the train after escorting a girl home.
Centuries of bitter memories inform the prof’s attitude and behavior.
Unfortunately, years and years of experience and memories also inform the cop’s behavior. As a cop he has probably had experiences similar to those I’ve had as a substitute teacher. The race card is played more often in schools than the biology book is opened.
People like Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton can play it with as much vigor as George Wallace or Bull Connor—and they’ve taught black kids how to be just like them. As the Connor’s and Wallace’s have taught their followers.
I remember in one school a large black student was being so loud and disruptive no work could be done. When I asked him to move to another seat, he glared at me, “You’re just doing this because I’m black!” He expected me to wilt with white guilt. I didn’t.
“I’m doing this because you are the loudest, most disruptive person in the room. Now sit over here.” Sheepishly he obliged and was quiet the rest of the hour.
When I tried to enforce a school rule on another defiant black student, he snarled at me, “I ain’t your slave!” I got lucky. Another teacher came along and reamed him into place.
I wish I had a nickel for the number of times I’ve been called “racist” or “prejudiced” for just trying to enforce a little order (and a little learning) in a predominantly black classroom. Most white subs don’t really try. I had a black teacher warn me: “Be careful. You’re an older white male. You’ve got a target on your back.”
The cop did his job—target on his back and all. The prof played his card. The City of Boston wilted with white guilt and dropped the disorderly conduct charges.
The Prex—the President of the United States—forgot for an instant that that’s what he is right now—of all the United States and all of its people and, for an instant, he became another black kid with a tall white lady walking up fast behind him.
A graduate of Harvard Law, he didn’t verbalize it the way Sharpton, Jackson or the Prof would have. He just called the cop who went up scared to investigate a break-in “stupid”.
I can understand what his mind went back to, but that was really not a terribly bright thing to say. Would he say it about white members of his own Secret Service detail if they wrestled a black man to the ground who just seemed to fuddling with something in his pocket?
If we can’t get past tense cops, activist professors who know how to generate headlines, and even presidents who are scared by their own memories, we have a bad future ahead of us.